


AKA Under Investigation

by alamorn



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 11:33:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6468631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alamorn/pseuds/alamorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their first meeting after she told him he was dead to her doesn't go exactly how he thought it would.</p>
            </blockquote>





	AKA Under Investigation

It wasn't like he followed her around or something. Even if he'd had the time, that would be a gross invasion of her privacy. And he respected Page. She was capable of taking care of herself when she wasn't dragged into vigilante issues. Or plunged in head first. She wasn't a woman with a strong sense of self preservation, that was for sure.

But. He kept up with her articles, and if he was in the area he might drop by her apartment or office to make sure it hadn't gotten shot up. Again. 

And the day she saw him, he wasn't even doing that. He was just… having coffee. He noticed when she entered the diner, of course, and he tugged his cap lower and kept his shoulders hunched. He wasn't there for her. They hadn't spoken since… Well, since they'd both made their choices. 

So he wasn’t pleased when she slid into the booth across from him, but he wasn't surprised, either.

“Are you following me?” she asked.

He looked up and met her gaze. “I could ask you the same thing.”

She grimaced. “That's not how I meant it. Someone's been following me. It would have been slightly less terrifying if it were you.”

He couldn't help himself. He laughed.

“Frank,” she said, glancing around.

He smiled at her, an unfamiliar motion. “Pretty sure you're the only person in the world with that opinion.”

She jerked a shoulder up in a shrug. “In some places, they trust you more than the police.”

That was news, but more because he didn't keep up with opinions than any sort of surprise. He knew what the police could be like, and the majority of the people he killed were white men. “Still,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

He expected a little bit of prevarication, a few minutes of talking around the point before she asked for anything, and even for that to be couched in euphemisms.

Instead-- “I'd like it if you figured out who was following me. And grabbed them. I want to ask them some questions.”

He took a long sip of coffee to hide his surprise. “I'll kill them when you're done. You know that.”

“Not if they're not bad,” she insisted. “Not if they weren't planning on killing me. Hurting me. Anything else, let me decide how to deal with them.”

Her voice was firm, but her hands were wrapped tight around each other, knuckles white. She met his eyes when he looked up at her, and her gaze was unwavering. He shrugged. “Okay,” he said, and finished his coffee in a long swallow. “Not your first rodeo. Let's go.”

“Now?” She looked a little sick and he recalculated. She'd done something bad enough that she wanted him to be redeemable, something to do with that pretty little gun of hers, but it hadn't been planned. He let the thought filter back. He respected her. He wouldn't pry, not yet.

“No time like the present.” After a moment to enjoy the look on her face, he relented with a quiet laugh. “Nah, but we need to plan. Especially if you want them alive. And it's time for me to move.”

She turned her face from him at the reminder of the last time they were in a diner. Then she nodded. “We shouldn't leave together. Go to my apartment. I'll be there in a little while.”

He let himself smile, just a little bit, and did as she said.

 

She'd filled the bullet holes with putty but hadn't painted over them. It was an ugly look, but who was he to judge? 

She'd left some papers out, printouts about the supers or weirdos or whatever they were called that kept showing up. He looked through them to kill time. A Kilgrave showed up a lot -- he could vaguely remember hearing about the guy, but whatever it was had gone down while he was out of the country so a lot of the information was new. And disquieting. Mind control? He let himself shudder, since no one was watching.

Trish Walker was another name that showed up. His wife had liked her show.

A key in the door. He put the papers back and turned as Page walked in, shoving her hair behind her ear. “Did anyone follow you here?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “Did you lose your friend?”

She nearly growled in frustration. It was… Charming. “No,” she said. “And I took the longest way home I could think of.”

“If they already know where you live, that won't help much,” he pointed out.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you always this comforting?”

“Sorry, ma’am,” he said, not sorry at all. “But you wanted my help. You could have asked Red. He'd have been nicer about it.”

She snorted. “And have to listen to him being concerned about my safety for the next two months? Please.” She paused. “You know I know him?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “He's a little too smug to be good at the secret identity thing.”

She huffed out an unhappy laugh. “You're smarter than me, then. I didn't figure it out by myself.”

That was a surprise. Both that she hadn't figured it out, and that he had told her. “You didn't want to,” he settled on. It seemed like the only reasonable solution.

“Who would want their blind friend to be running around, getting beat half to death every night?” She shook her head, blond hair swinging. “Anyway, Matt's not the issue at hand. I was thinking, the firm's old office hasn't been sold yet. I head that way, you snatch the asshole following me and bring him up and we can have a conversation. “

He shrugged. “Sounds fine. You got your gun?”

“Always, now.” She reached into her purse for a moment, then took her hand back out, empty. “I haven't gotten a good look at the guy, but he's small, wears dark clothing. Might be a woman, actually.”

“Helpful,” he said. She rolled her eyes.

“They’re outside now. I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out.”

 

It was a late fall evening, and he could see his breath as he swung out onto the fire escape. He’d always hated being cold, but after deployment, it was even worse. But he was on a mission, so he could suck it up.

Going down Page’s rusty deathtrap of a fire escape quietly was a test of skills he’d never spent too much time perfecting, so it was slow work. That was why he saw the tail. They were small, and they were sitting on the fire escape of the building opposite, with a good view of Page’s room. Wearing black, they almost blended into the shadows, but he used the same trick. 

Alright, he’d grab them now. It would be a pain to drag them all the way to the office, but it was a good opportunity, or at least not a bad one. He looked again. It was only a narrow gap between buildings, and he was still a flight above them. They -- she, it was definitely a woman, from this distance, was watching him with unconcealed amusement. He shrugged at her, then jumped.

It wasn’t polite to enjoy the way her face twisted as he hurtled towards her, but he did anyway. He landed next to her with a clatter and a twinge from his knees, and then he pushed himself up to his full height to loom over her.

Normally, that made people quiver. This woman, though, looked bored. He took another step towards her, but stayed wary of her hands. If she went for a gun, he wouldn’t be caught by surprise.

“My friend has some questions for you,” he said, pitching his voice low and growly. 

Still, she looked unimpressed. “Talking’s not my job.”

He shoved her back against the wall and started to say, And following an innocent woman is? but she sighed and grabbed him by the throat before spinning them and slamming him into the brick so hard he saw white. Jesus, he tried to gasp, but all he could do was wheeze.

“Y’know,” she said, as casually as if she were not supporting most of his weight with one thin arm, “I was about ready to call my client, tell him that Karen Page was just another journalist. More balls than brains, and with a bad habit for trouble, but not doing anything riskier than the average investigative journalist around here. And then she goes to you to deal with a tail, which I had no clue she’d spotted until today, by the way. And all of a sudden, Karen Page is not just another journalist.” She shook her head. “You made my job harder, Castle. I don’t appreciate that.”

He wheezed at her. She loosened her grip, but didn’t release it. He gagged a little and cleared his throat. “Sounds like you two have a lot to talk about.”

She looked at him for a while, then dropped her hand. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s talk.”

He looked at the fire escape to see if he could make the jump again. There was another landing below them, so he shrugged and took the jump and started climbing up without checking to make sure she followed. She landed loudly enough that he didn’t need to.

Page was waiting at the window when he got to her floor. “What’s going on?” she asked, glancing behind him at the woman.

He slid into her apartment, shoulder brushing hers. “She agreed to talk to you.” He wrinkled his nose. “She’s stronger than me.”

Page frowned. “That’s hard to believe.”

He shrugged and made sure two of his guns were loose in their holsters before the woman slid in the window.

“Karen Page,” she said, hands shoved hard into her pockets.

“And you are?” Page said, voice frosty.

“Jessica Jones,” the woman said, glancing around. “Your friend hired me, actually.” She tilted her head at the way he stood, feet apart and hands held still at his sides.

“Which friend?” Page said. Her gun was jammed in her waistband, he could see from where he stood behind her. Good.

Jones shrugged irritably. “You don’t have that many, lady. Nelson. I work with his new boss and he thought he’d take advantage of the firm’s PI.” Her lip twitched in something that could have been a grimace or a smile. “He wanted to make sure you weren’t getting into trouble. You are, by the way.”

“What, Frank? Foggy can kiss my ass. He doesn’t get to talk about hanging around vigilantes.” The bitterness in her voice almost stunned him.

“That and all the people you’ve pissed off. Someone’s gonna kill you someday soon.”

He looked hard at Page at that. She just shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “I can take care of myself.”

Jones scoffed, but she looked amused. “You’d like my friend. Here, I’ll give you her number. She can recommend some self defense stuff. And better security.” She pulled a small notepad and pen from her pocket and scribbled out a number. After looking at Page and her raised eyebrows, she put it on the table next to her. “This has been fun and all,” she said, “but if your boyfriend glares any harder, I’m gonna get a sunburn. I’m sure Nelson will tell you what I tell him. Mind if I take the door this time?”

Without waiting for an answer, she left out the front.

Page sighed and scrubbed a hand down her face before pulling the gun from her waistband and putting it next to her bed. “Want some coffee or something?” she asked.

“Sure.” He never turned down coffee. And she looked like she didn’t want to be alone. 

She had one of the old fashioned percolators, and not even a nice one. It looked like it had been through a war, but it made a lot of coffee and it made it fast, albeit with a lot of noise. Despite her offer, she slumped at her tiny kitchen table, leaving him to do the making. When he grunted inquisitively, she pointed at the right cabinets for everything.

He liked making coffee. The process was soothing, and it resulted in coffee. Page only had the instant shit, though, which took a lot of joy out of it.

They sat quietly across from each other for a while, sipping at the terrible coffee. Then she glanced up and favored him with a brilliant smile. “I’m glad you’re still alive, Frank.”

**Author's Note:**

> idk man


End file.
